by Michael Kerr
As Merkel worked at dying, Ryan had watched, keeping the boy’s face turned away from the scene as it played out. When it was over, he nodded to himself, satisfied that justice had been done.
“Call it in,” he said to Del, and went to find a blanket to wrap around his trembling ward.
Del’s attention was snapped back to the here and now as Ryan shouted, “You just ran a red light. Concentrate.”
“Sorry, boss, I was away with the fairies for a minute,” Del said.
“Better pull in at the next pub. You can buy me a pint, then phone the incident room and let them know that I want everyone focused on locating Tyler.”
“You sure it’s him?”
“Positive.”
They had two pints each. Ryan bought a packet of dry roasted peanuts and munched them as Del drove back to the Yard.
The incident room was buzzing. The atmosphere was loaded with concentration, determination and tunnel-vision purpose. There was only one goal; find Tyler.
Ryan was pleased to see Julie. She was in the thick of it, moving from desk to desk, talking to team members, glancing at monitor screens and looking completely immersed in the case. It was refreshing to see her leading by example: integrating with the officers instead of remaining aloof in her office, or worse, going off duty to perhaps keep a prearranged date for a meal or the theatre.
Ryan didn’t know how he felt about her. Since they had broken the ice he had sensed a tension between them. There was a potential for something more than a purely working relationship. They made interoffice phone calls to each other over case matters that were not pressing. Ryan felt the mutual attraction. It all came down to chemistry, he supposed. They had subtly flirted with each other since the episode in Starbucks, when their legs had all but pressed against each other under the table.
Ryan went to the coffeepot. Maybe he was reading more into it than he should. But he didn’t think so. Julie looked across at him and he could see how he felt in her eyes. It was a want. Like the way you would look at a sleek sports car in a showroom window; a vehicle that was way out of your price range, was impractical, but pressed all the right buttons. You could fantasise climbing in, smelling the brand new upholstery, turning the key, cranking the engine and driving it away. Maybe knowing you couldn’t have it made it all the more desirable. And yet you knew it would just be a burden. There was the running costs, the steep insurance, the worry of it being damaged or stolen. He absently sipped the coffee, burning his mouth. The sudden discomfort concentrated him. He did not need the baggage; would not let whatever was between him and Julie Brannigan escalate. He led a simple and uncomplicated life. Why open the door to the entanglement behind it. All successful relationships relied on both parties learning to compromise. He didn’t think he would be good at that. He was a free spirit, in that he ate, drank, slept and came and went without having to explain himself to anyone. He was too used to being alone. Who was he kidding? It was fear, pure and simple. Everyone ended up sleeping alone. Happiness, and being with someone you cared about more than yourself, only led to eventual misery. There were no happy endings. His mother was a testament to that. Would she have married his father if she had known that down the road a few years, he would string himself up and take the easy way out?
Julie’s voice cut through his thoughts. “He’s dropped off the planet,” she said, suddenly appearing next to him and topping up her coffee cup.
“Why am I not surprised?” he replied, aware that they were inside each other’s personal space again. He could smell her minty breath, and a trace of perfume. He knew that his own breath would reek of stale smoke, booze and peanuts. And he could feel the damp of sweat under his arms and at the small of his back. He had the urge to take a shower and brush his teeth. Damn! He was caring how he came across to Julie.
“We’re looking for an individual who has cut loose from who he was, and has built himself a new identity,” Julie stated. “We were after Andrew Tyler, but now we have no idea who he is.”
Ryan hiked his shoulders. “What’s in a name? We have his prints, his photograph, and all his details.”
“You think if he took the trouble to assume an ID that would pass muster, that he won’t have changed his appearance?”
“He might have changed his hairstyle and grown a moustache or beard. But I doubt he went to a back street plastic surgeon for a new face. He will feel totally secure, and not even consider that we would tie him to Savino. Or that Savino would give him up.”
“Which leaves us where exactly?”
“A lot nearer than we were a week ago. We’ll get him.”
“I hope you can back that up, Ryan.”
“He’s made mistakes. Some of them we’ve recognised and acted on. Maybe there are others that we’ll come across. It’s like a leak in a dam. It might start with a few drops of water dripping through a hairline crack, but the pressure is relentless. Before you know it, you’ve got a pile of rubble under deep water.
“Not if someone plugs the leak in time.”
“Do you always look at a glass as being half empty?”
“Maybe. I don’t take anything as a given. Too much slips through the net.”
“Not repeaters. They don’t have the sense to stop while they’re ahead. It’s inconceivable to them that we can track them down.”
“Sometimes we don’t.”
“I don’t see it that way. There’s no statute of limitations on murder. We even have a cold case department with the sole function of reviewing and reopening old cases. It was only this spring that they used DNA to nail a killer who’d raped and murdered several women back in nineteen-seventy-six. He was caught by the use of forensic science that didn’t exist when he committed the crimes.”
Julie couldn’t argue with that. “Let’s hope we don’t have to wait the best part of forty years to catch this one, eh?” she said.
Ryan gave her a thin smile. He didn’t entertain failure. He reached for the coffeepot at the same instant as Julie. Their hands touched, and they both pulled back.
Julie heard her own sharp intake of breath. She felt as though she’d stuck her fingers in a wall socket. Damn Ryan! What was it about the man that was in some way invading her heart and soul? How could a guy who she knew nothing about, and only saw and spoke to with regard to work be causing her to be in such a state of turmoil? Even off-duty, he was creeping into her thoughts. She wanted something to happen, but had absolutely no intention of doing anything about it.
Ryan didn’t rate himself as anything special. If anything, he only recognised his shortcomings, and accommodated them. He did not aspire to be anything other than he was. Didn’t need a lot, and lived one day at a time. He had no short, medium or long-term plans. Just got on with what came along the best he could. He had never bought a lottery ticket, and was under no illusion that the grass might be greener anywhere other than where he happened to be. The only thing he thought he might enjoy doing, was to pick up a Harley across the pond in New York City, and drive west, sampling the coffee, cheap motels and open road, until he came to the Pacific in L.A. or San Francisco. Then he could always turn around and head back by a different route. It wasn’t something he ever thought would happen, just a whim, a dream to think about and pass time when he was alone in his flat, trying to find sleep.
The last week had been different. The case they had made top priority was gnawing at his brain. He was on a knife’s edge, waiting for the next young woman to be found shot in the head. This was not the same as trying to solve a one-off murder. Time was not as pressing in those cases. Serial killings were a different proposition. You were always expecting another body. And then another. Julie had lessened his intensity. He wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing. And when their hands met, he had the almost irresistible urge to hold her in his arms and kiss her. What was it about her? She was a couple of years older than him, with a sprinkling of grey hair. Not some dolly bird. Maybe that was it. She was mature; had taken a few of t
he knocks that life hands out without grace or favour, and had an inner calmness about her that you couldn’t manufacture. He thought of a glass-smooth pebble on a beach, that over time and at the mercy of the continual ebb and flow of the tides, had lost its sharp edges. She was down-to-earth, not prone to overreaction. Comfortable to be around. And more than that, she took his breath away, and made him feel like the gawky kid who’d been head-over-heels in love with Sandra Walker, back when he was fifteen years old.
Sandra had been the first. She had unlocked the door to a secret mind-blowing world he had not known existed. Sex had been a drug that he could not get enough of, that she weaned him on to, and supplied him with in copious amounts. He’d been like a kid with a new toy.
“A penny for them,” Julie said.
“Uh! I just slipped back a couple of decades, to a time before I realised just what a sad and bad world I was a part of.”
“It’s late, and I could murder a gin and tonic,” Julie said, stepping over a hard line that she had drawn, but was now in danger of crossing.
“Let’s go,” Ryan said. “A little R and R won’t hurt. Eddie will give me a bell if anything breaks.”
Both Ryan and Julie knew that maybe not tonight, but sometime soon they would stop beating around the bush and let it happen. The anticipation was all part of the foreplay; a period of savouring with deliberation...and intent. They were both relishing the thought of what may come to pass.
Chapter NINE
There was a second’s pause, during which Emily’s brain was in a confused state of shock. She did not understand what was happening. She froze. Her nervous system was over-stimulated by sudden fear, to the point where she could not react. The terror of facing an unknown threat had totally immobilised her.
It was not a loud, shrill scream, only an almost soundless whimper that escaped her lips. The looming figure moved to within inches of her, and still she could not move; as transfixed to the ground as a deeply-rooted tree.
Palm up, he jabbed hard, driving the tips of his stiff, gloved fingers into her solar plexus, into the complex of radiating nerves at the pit of her stomach. He kept watching her face, to see the expression of agony form to contort her features. He had once hanged a dog from the branch of a tree, and been enthralled by the choking whine and the dread in its darting eyes. It had kicked and done a jerky dance in mid-air, hastening its death as the wire bit through the shaggy fur, deep into the flesh beneath. Emily’s mien had generated the image. She folded at the waist, dropped down to the floor, rolled on to her side and curled up like a startled hedgehog.
Stepping over the threshold, he closed and locked the door behind him and knelt next to his chosen prey.
She was having difficulty breathing.
“Ignore the pain, Emily,” he instructed. “It will lessen. Just try to relax and concentrate on taking small, even breaths. You’ll be fine in a couple of minutes.”
There was no need to hurry. He waited until she was more composed, then showed her the Spyderco Delica Serrator. It was a sturdy, sensible knife with a razor-sharp 2.7” stainless steel serrated blade. It had a tough, lightweight, crosshatched handle, and integrated centrelock for safety. Who’s safety? Certainly not Emily’s.
“Sit up with your back against the wall,” he said.
Emily slowly obeyed him, grunting and groaning. Her stomach still felt as though it was lit up like a Christmas tree with overheated bulbs winking on and off. Muscles randomly twitched all over her body, making her skin jump. And she had to swallow hard to keep from throwing up. Why did it matter? Better out than in. She lost the half-hearted fight and upchucked in her lap.
“That’s not a very attractive or feminine thing to do,” Andy said, leaning away from her, not wanting any of the stinking matter on his clothes. “I think you’d better have a shower.”
Emily wiped at her nose and mouth with the back of her hand.
“Who...who are you?” she managed to say in a pained whisper.
“Death,” he said. “Now listen very carefully, Emily. If you do anything but follow my instructions to the letter, then I will cut your eyes out. Listen to your inner voice. It will tell you that only total submission might result in your being spared.”
Emily wanted to wake up. Wanted this to be no more than a terrible nightmare that she could escape from, but knew that it wasn’t.
“Why me?” she heard herself ask.
“Fate,” he replied. “Now let’s get you out of those soiled clothes, and cleaned up.”
He took her by the hand, pulled her to her feet and, walking behind her, followed her into the bathroom and sat on the toilet seat. Watched her strip, and became aroused as she got down to bra and G-string. He reached out with the knife and she became still. With the tip of the blade, he severed the thin waistband, then drew the gauzy pouch from between her thighs. Stared at the wiry black bush that sprouted like a gorse thicket from her protuberant pubic mound.
Emily unhooked her bra, removed it, and dropped it on to her crumpled halter and skirt. Stepped into the bath and turned on the power shower. Her skin tightened and rose in goose bumps as the cold water pummelled her. She gasped and began to shiver, then felt the temperature rise. As she soaped herself, the room began to steam up. This was surreal. She was naked and taking a shower, with an armed and masked intruder sitting on her toilet. It was almost impossible to believe it was really happening.
This was so...so natural. It struck him that he had never watched a woman take a shower before. Life was chock-full of new experiences waiting to be enjoyed. He watched her soap her breasts, run her hands over her stomach, her lower back and buttocks, then down each leg from thigh to ankle. This was better than sitting in a dark Soho booth, feeding a slot with pound coins to operate a screen that would open to give a ninety-second a throw view of some gum-chewing slut playing with her tits and spreading her legs, if you were lucky. He had spent a fortune in the seclusion of those tissue-littered booths, trousers down to his knees, taking himself in hand. That had been before he came to know that he could have anything he wanted without parting with a penny. All he desired in life was his for the taking.
Putting the knife down on top of the cistern, he went to her, and soaped a large, pink sponge. She stiffened as he washed her back, but did not pull away.
Jesus! What a sensation. He had a feeling of...of what? Certain emotions were hard to understand. All he knew was, that this innocent act was rewarding. He watched the snow-white suds run down her smooth arse cheeks, and between them. The water was piping hot now, and her skin was turning red.
“Rinse off and get dried,” he said, dropping the sponge and returning to his seat.
Emily stepped out of the tub, took a thick bath towel from the rail on the back of the door and rubbed herself dry.
“Go to your bedroom,” he ordered, the knife once more in his hand. He followed her, and used thick twine that he had brought with him to tether her wrists to the posts of the antique brass headboard of the bed: a bed that Emily had only bought a few months ago at auction. It was an impulse purchase. The ceramic finials were crazed with age, and it had needed plenty of elbow grease and two full cans of Brasso metal polish wadding to restore it to its former gleaming glory. Now she was tied to it. How crazy could life get. Her brain was using any and every ploy to somehow stop her from losing all control. She knew that her only chance of surviving this ordeal was by being compliant.
Maybe he’ll rape me, then take my purse, Emily thought. Probably get me to give him my PIN numbers so that he can use my credit cards. Surely someone who intended to kill you wouldn’t gently wash your back while you showered. And he was wearing a stocking mask. That was so she would not be able to give a description of him to the police. She knew that it was very important to remember everything she could. How tall is he? Definitely over six foot. Maybe six-two or three. And those eyes. She would never forget the staring yellow eyes. She had never seen eyes that colour before. They might be contact len
ses. What else was striking about him?
He went over to the dressing table and rummaged through the drawers. She lifted her head up off the pillow to watch him. There was only dim light entering the gap of the partially open door from the hall. What was he doing?
“Open your mouth,” he said, bending over her. She could smell nothing on his breath. It was just warm, odourless air. But he was wearing a cologne; lime scented. He put something soft between her teeth. Pressed it back, to fill her mouth and block her throat. There was a ripping sound. She began to panic.
“Concentrate Emily and breathe through your nose,” he said, pressing the silver duct tape to her cheek, then lifting her head up so that he could wind it tightly around it. “There, I think we’re all set.”
All she could do was focus her attention on breathing, and watch him. He had not tethered her feet. She could have kicked him. Big deal. That would have only enraged him. She needed to somehow keep it together. Panic would not improve her situation.
He kept the latex gloves on his hands, and the stocking over his head. But took everything else off. He had not invested so much time in Emily to just jump her bones, whack her, and leave. This was pure self-indulgence. He wanted to take lasting memories away with him. He was entering a new phase and felt the need of more from his victims than their fear and their lives.
She saw that he was extremely muscular. Light and shadow highlighted the definition of his pecs, abs and biceps. He had no chest hair. There was a dark patch on his left shoulder. A tattoo? Yes. He turned slightly and the light caught it: a cross, Celtic in design. What else. His pubic area was shaven. It made his erect and circumcised penis appear larger than it probably was. His thighs bulged, as did his calves. This was a keep-fit fanatic.